Nentir Vale

Orko

I'm a badass, magic mo-fo whose chok full of sexy!!!

Description:

Orko is an arrogant, extremely intellectually gifted person who prefers to out think his opponents rather than out fight them. Which is not to say that he won’t kick someone’s ass should the need arise, he simply gets a certain narccissistic pleasure out of beating someone by having their own people stab them from behind or simply overpowering an enemies mind and convincing them to experience the joys of flight by walking off that lovely cliff over there.
He also enjoys showing people the relative ease with which he dispatches of his foes, setting up powers to sit in the middle of the room and do his slaying for him while he lounges in the corner, well out of harms way, sometimes sipping a drink or stepping out for a smoke while he waits for the others in his party to perform their mundane tasks around him.

Bio:

Orko was born at a very young age in a small village that sat in the shadow of a proud king’s castle. His father was a captain in the king’s army and from the time Orko could hold a blade in his hand he wanted to be a warrior just like his father. Then the darkness came.
In the twilight hours of an otherwise peaceful autumn day the monsters came. A lich, commanding an army of foulspawn, descended on the doomed king’s gates. They didn’t want gold, they didn’t want land… they came that night for blood, and blood they found. The battle raged for days, and after the screams of defeat began to quiet down Orko went out with his mother to search through the carrion birds and the broken bodies of the king’s once mighty brigade for the mangled remains that had once been his father. What he found that day changed his world forever. Bringing home only the shattered hilt of the sword he had always thought could vanquish any foe, Orko realized that those who rely on strength are only as powerful as he who controls them. The most skilled and powerful swordsman may be merely a puppet, just a pawn on the board of he who is truly playing the game. Orko decided that day he would never be that puppet.
When he was seven years old Orko sought out the broken king’s arcane advisor and begged to become his apprentice. At first, the skinny old man with the walking sticks said Orko was too old for him to spend time with. With a lispy voice that made a slight whistle when he talked he explained to Orko that he normally reserved his time for boys much younger than him, but Orko was persistent. He approached the strange man day after day, often calling in the evening just as the Pedomancer Mage was sitting down to dinner. Orko became such a nuisance that a law was made barring solicitors from bothering citizens in their homes after 9:00 P.M. standard time. But Orko would not be denied. One day, out of pity, the old man invited Orko to come down to his basement for a popsicle to talk about magic and the responsibilities of what he was asking, along with the old man’s expectations from him over the course of the next fifteen years should he decide that Orko was worth training. Orko was thrilled, he made a vow that day to learn of where the evil creatures that destroyed his family had come from and to learn to control enough power to destroy them.
The old man taught him of the world; magic, history, the patterns and the lore of dungeons, nature, and languages. He even taught Orko how to take care of his body, instructing him in the proper ways of the vegan diet and rigorously oiling him up every morning and every evening for his excercise rituals. The temperamental old man even taught Orko of love, though he never lost the somewhat brusk demeanor Orko had seen in him from the first day. Finally, after fifteen years of apprenticeship, and what Orko felt was friendship, Orko knew it was time to pack his bags and set upon his quest to find his way to the Far Realm. His master made only one attempt to convince him to stay before succumbing to Orko’s resolve. And though Orko felt his master approved of the journey, as he walked off he could just barely make out the whispered voice of his master saying “Get your skinny ass back here, you son of a bitch.”
But Orko would not return. Orko had a destiny to get started on, and whatever hideous creatures were waiting around the corner for him they couldn’t possibly be as wierd as Saturday nights when the old man would get drunk and make Orko oil HIM up for excercise rituals.